Posted in Poem of the Day, Seniors

You Don’t Need Toilet Paper (a poem)

Listen up... you don't need Toilet Paper in your life!
Please take it from me, and Betty, my wife
This Corona-virus they say, it's creeping up quickly
"Buy toilet rolls NOW, for when you get sickly!"

The squabbling in shops; aren't people just AWFUL?
Well, we got through The War, it made us resourceful
So here's a few tips, you might put into practice
For bathroom ablutions, while the Kleenex is cactus.

The go-to solution?  Simply shred up The Times!
Too bad that it's raspy (and it might leave print lines)
But it's worth it for smugness, when wiping the face
Of a fool politician, with dumb policies in place.

Another good ploy, for loo-roll relief
Is to extract from your fig tree, a large singular leaf
Totally natural, so there's no need to be frowny
Just make sure it's utilised, bristle-side downy.

An old shirt can be handy, as you perch there alone
When you find yourself paperless, sat on the throne
Or a dried-up old corn-cob, on the end of a twig
You can double it up, for the jobs that are BIG.

But a slice of Bet's fruit loaf, is solid and thick
And for ultimate absorption, it does do the trick
Chock full of nuts, it's the thickest of ply
Hey, you wouldn't want THAT, caught in your eye.

Oh, our lives are a shambles, there's an odd-smelling stench
We'd rather hold off; we're starting to CLENCH
Like the loss of a pet, we mourn beloved bathroom tissue
Come back soon, Toilet Paper... DEAR GOD, HOW WE MISS YOU!

-by Barry P. Knightly, age 94yrs

ALL IS FORGIVEN!!!

HAPPY CARING!

Cheers,
Dollie
Posted in Grandparents, Poem of the Day

My Grandson, Sam (a poem)

I made my grandson hot cocoa
To warm him from top to toes.
He took a sip
And burnt his lip,
The froth came out his nose!

My grandson loves climbing the plum tree
I call him Super Sam.
We eat all the plums
‘Til we get sore tums
And start pooping out purple plum jam!

Some days we play at the seaside
Sammy off chasing a bird.
Too late to go…
“LOOK OUT BELOW!”
My ice-cream covered in turd!

I love my grandson, Sammy
So sweetly he squeals with glee.
We stole Grandma’s hat
To put on the cat
She sent us to bed without tea!

by Jimbo Loveworthy (‘Grandpa Bo’), age 89

Just begging for trouble!

HAPPY CARING!

Cheers,
Dollie

Posted in Driving, Elderly, Poem of the Day

My Little Yellow Sports Car (a poem)

Because you can take on the world in a good suit!
My little yellow sports car,
I puff my chest with pride
When zipping along the freeway,
or tootling through countryside.

My little yellow sports car,
oh, I feel just like James Bond
All that’s missing beside me,
is a long-legged, busty blonde.

My little yellow sports car,
the envy of all my friends
A cut ‘n’ polish each Sunday,
the joy it is immense.

My little yellow sports car,
my daughter calls me absurd
“You’re too old to be driving so fast!”
"That’s shaken’ dear, not stirred".

My little yellow sports car,
now locked up in the shed
I’m not allowed to drive her,
I may as well be dead.

My little yellow sports car,
bye-bye from this ‘Double-oh-Seven’
'Cos when I go I’m taking her with me,
So I can race her to Hell in Heaven.

- by Ted J. Tailpipe, age 88 
....BEEP, BEEP!
Live & Let Die…. sadly, abandoned in the shed

HAPPY CARING!

Cheers,
Dollie

Posted in Poem of the Day

I Had a Fall Upon the Stair (a poem)

Silly me, upon the stair,
On the rug I tripped, I fell down there.
Me hip busted, in traction today,
I wish, I wish I could get outta me own way…

The doc he said “You’ve bones broken three”
Me son, well, he sat sneerin’ at me
“Like Humpty Dumpty, Dad, you’ve had a great fall…”
Geez, I wished I wasn’t there at all!
To go home, go home… I ain’t comin’ back here no more!
Sweet home, sweet home, with me dog a-scratchin’ at the door …

Strange looks, and whisperin’… Life, she’s unfair,
“Sorry, Dad, but you’re not going back there”
Too old for surgery, the doc makes it plain,
Couldn’t put Humpty together again…

by Hugh Treadlightly, age 94

(and his little dog , Shorty!)

Woofity, WOOF!

HAPPY CARING!

Cheers,
Dollie